Ronald Carson
@rcfieldnotes.bsky.social
Trying to remember the question you're supposed to ask barefoot, with cold sand between your toes. Writing about belonging, and the spaces between places.
https://ronaldcarson2.substack.com/
https://ronaldcarson2.substack.com/
“Don’t be surprised if I demur, for, be advised
My passport’s green.
No glass of ours was ever raised
To toast The Queen.”
From Heaney's "An Open Letter" 1982
My passport’s green.
No glass of ours was ever raised
To toast The Queen.”
From Heaney's "An Open Letter" 1982
October 11, 2025 at 6:50 PM
“Don’t be surprised if I demur, for, be advised
My passport’s green.
No glass of ours was ever raised
To toast The Queen.”
From Heaney's "An Open Letter" 1982
My passport’s green.
No glass of ours was ever raised
To toast The Queen.”
From Heaney's "An Open Letter" 1982
The black dog at the gate, the mind not knowing itself, waiting for morning.
This is the real shape of 3 a.m. anxiety.
You're naming it without romanticizing it.
This is the real shape of 3 a.m. anxiety.
You're naming it without romanticizing it.
October 11, 2025 at 4:14 AM
The black dog at the gate, the mind not knowing itself, waiting for morning.
This is the real shape of 3 a.m. anxiety.
You're naming it without romanticizing it.
This is the real shape of 3 a.m. anxiety.
You're naming it without romanticizing it.
Gah! Didn't have a chance to watch yet, but love to see Irish teams get stuck in. Catch up with ye on the boomtube tomorra.
October 11, 2025 at 4:08 AM
Gah! Didn't have a chance to watch yet, but love to see Irish teams get stuck in. Catch up with ye on the boomtube tomorra.
"Kiss Achilles' hand, the killer of my son."
Ceasefire as the hardest human act:
recognizing your enemy across the body.
This lands.
Ceasefire as the hardest human act:
recognizing your enemy across the body.
This lands.
October 11, 2025 at 4:06 AM
"Kiss Achilles' hand, the killer of my son."
Ceasefire as the hardest human act:
recognizing your enemy across the body.
This lands.
Ceasefire as the hardest human act:
recognizing your enemy across the body.
This lands.
"My veins don't end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life"
Dalton saying: everyone is my people because my blood
doesn't recognize borders.
Reading this after winning a poetry competition feels
like a reminder of what the work is actually for.
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life"
Dalton saying: everyone is my people because my blood
doesn't recognize borders.
Reading this after winning a poetry competition feels
like a reminder of what the work is actually for.
October 11, 2025 at 4:03 AM
"My veins don't end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life"
Dalton saying: everyone is my people because my blood
doesn't recognize borders.
Reading this after winning a poetry competition feels
like a reminder of what the work is actually for.
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life"
Dalton saying: everyone is my people because my blood
doesn't recognize borders.
Reading this after winning a poetry competition feels
like a reminder of what the work is actually for.
"They weren't my people, though,
so I carried on and didn't stop."
As someone who left Belfast and wrote poems about what I carried
(a tooth, turf, an unposted letter), this poem asks the question
I've been avoiding:
What did I leave behind? And for whom?
Powerful work.
so I carried on and didn't stop."
As someone who left Belfast and wrote poems about what I carried
(a tooth, turf, an unposted letter), this poem asks the question
I've been avoiding:
What did I leave behind? And for whom?
Powerful work.
October 11, 2025 at 3:59 AM
"They weren't my people, though,
so I carried on and didn't stop."
As someone who left Belfast and wrote poems about what I carried
(a tooth, turf, an unposted letter), this poem asks the question
I've been avoiding:
What did I leave behind? And for whom?
Powerful work.
so I carried on and didn't stop."
As someone who left Belfast and wrote poems about what I carried
(a tooth, turf, an unposted letter), this poem asks the question
I've been avoiding:
What did I leave behind? And for whom?
Powerful work.
Brilliant. Strength to you, Melissa.
October 11, 2025 at 3:56 AM
Brilliant. Strength to you, Melissa.
Seamus Heaney showed Northern Irish poets we could write the ground
under our feet without apology or translation.
His collected poems: a masterclass in making the local universal, the small utterly precise. Still learning from him. Always will be.
#SeamusHeaney #IrishPoetry #NorthernIrishWriters
under our feet without apology or translation.
His collected poems: a masterclass in making the local universal, the small utterly precise. Still learning from him. Always will be.
#SeamusHeaney #IrishPoetry #NorthernIrishWriters
October 11, 2025 at 3:55 AM
Seamus Heaney showed Northern Irish poets we could write the ground
under our feet without apology or translation.
His collected poems: a masterclass in making the local universal, the small utterly precise. Still learning from him. Always will be.
#SeamusHeaney #IrishPoetry #NorthernIrishWriters
under our feet without apology or translation.
His collected poems: a masterclass in making the local universal, the small utterly precise. Still learning from him. Always will be.
#SeamusHeaney #IrishPoetry #NorthernIrishWriters